As if right on cue, a job offer fell into my lap. My friend Mark called me and wondered if I wanted a job. “Yes!” I said. I didn’t even ask what the job was. It could be performing artificial insemination on chimpanzees as far as I was concerned, as long as it comes with a piece of paper with dollar signs on it.
The next day, I have brunch with Marco, because everyone knows, San Francisco is good for two things: blow jobs and brunch. I guess I should mention that Marco is not only my Ex boyfriend, but he's also gay. I would like to tell you that we broke up because he came out of the closet, but when we dated, he was not only out of the closet, but I was battling it out with his boyfriend, Lance, as to who will pull that rope of his over that gay to straight line. Guess who won? I'd also like to say that we remained good friends, but that would also be bullshit. The only time Marco contacts me is when he's looking for a favor, usually involving a friend of his that's coming from another country and needs a place to crash for a week or once again, he wants to buy something, but doesn't want Lance to know he's still running up a huge credit card bill and wants to use my den as some amazon.com shipping whore house. The only time I usually contact him is when he has a lead on a job, thanks to the number of professional men who he cheats on Lance with. In other words, we have a shitty friendship, but it works.
Today's job recommendation was for a writer to follow around some rich person and write about their life for a year.
"Sounds boring." I said. "Are they famous?"
"I don't think so, I mean I've never heard of them." He said.
"Name?"
"I forgot…Manny something? I can't read my hand writing. I wrote it on a bar napkin when I was at the Eagle."
"Have they ever done anything famous?"
"If they have, I'm not familiar with it, otherwise I would have remembered his name."
"You're not giving me a lot to work with, Marco." Is this some crazy megalomaniac? They could be a crazy serial killer who wants me to document their kills or else I'll be next."
"That sounds like a cool book, you should write it."
"I'll give it to my dad."
"I think it's sorta like someone being famous in sports. Besides a star player of the Warriors, you couldn't name anyone that sits on the bench."
"Or a star player."
"Well, there you go. So you want an interview?"
"Interview?"
"Yeah, that's how jobs work: résumé, interview, hire…"
"Fine, whatever, set it up."
"Will do, now…I have a little favor to ask…"
"What's his name?"
"It's a she this time?"
"A she? Have you switched leagues?"
"No, she's a friend of mine from Paris."
"Paris? Oo la-la"
"Promise me you won't ever say that to her."
"Ok, so how long?"
"A week. She's here for fashion week."
"Not another model."
"At least it's a girl this time."
"True. Alright fine. Does she speak English?"
"Everybody in Paris speaks English, nowadays."
"Except me when I went there."
"That's cause you're an ugly American."
"Hey!"
"I'm not talking about looks, June bug."
"Thanks…I think."
I end my phone call and thought about all of the shit I have to do: find my interview clothes and make room for a woman who at Halloween time, probably dresses up as me.
